


Stars in the Distance

by AdaraLove



Category: Fire Emblem: Fuukasetsugetsu | Fire Emblem: Three Houses
Genre: Claude goes by both of his names, Eventual Claude/Byleth, F/M, Slow Burn, possibly other pairings down the line
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2021-03-08
Updated: 2021-03-08
Packaged: 2021-03-15 01:21:54
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,958
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/29925786
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/AdaraLove/pseuds/AdaraLove
Summary: From the time they were born to the time their destinies finally intertwined, Claude and Byleth's lives had been ones filled with hatred, isolation and the need to survive.  They were outsiders, but when they looked to the night sky at the distant stars, they had to wonder if there was at least one place out there where they truly belonged.
Relationships: Claude von Riegan's Father/Tiana von Riegan | Claude von Riegan's Mother, Jeralt Reus Eisner/My Unit | Byleth's Mother, My Unit | Byleth/Claude von Riegan
Kudos: 10





	Stars in the Distance

**Author's Note:**

> Hello there! This is the first story I've written in a looooong time. So much so that I feel extremely nervous posting my works again. Hopefully this work and some others I'm working on will at least entertain someone out there who's looking for something to pass the time. I can't guarantee I'll finish it, with life being the busy thing that it is, but I'll do my best to post when I can. I have several chapters laying in wait for the moment that just need to be looked through before I post them. 
> 
> Anyway, for this story, I wanted to focus on Claude and Byleth's lives before they met in game and then maybe write my own rendition of events when it gets to that point. I hope that people will find some enjoyment out of it, at least. I also have no beta so please forgive me for any mistakes I wasn't able to catch! Anyway, for this chapter and for the several that follow, the POV will be from Jeralt's and Claude's parents' POVs since I don't have the confidence to write from a baby's or toddler's perspective XD Once Claude and Byleth get older then the POV will switch to them.

The cold, crisp air of the Wyvern Moon nipped at the exposed skin of Jeralt Eisner's face as he slowly made his way through the darkened alleyways of Garreg Mach Monastery. His footfalls were light, his breathing low and even as he wandered his way through the dark, the ethereal glow of the moon above being his only source of light. Years upon endless years of battle experience eased his mind and movements, making him traverse the grounds with the same confidence that the rest of the Knights of Seiros envied him for and aspired to have. A near two decades of being the captain of the guard made his travel all the easier. He knew every pathway at the monastery and town inside and out, knew every guard, their shifts and where they'd be at what time of the day and night. Not only that, but he saw to it that his knights were currently busy, distracted by the recent tragedy that had befallen their hallowed halls.

As his mind wandered back onto what he had done, at the tragedy he had created, the wizened knight clasped the large satchel strap strung across his shoulder and chest a little tighter, the bag itself resting at his hip. Inside the bag, the leather covering slightly loose and open to let in air, was everything important to Jeralt. A few days worth of rations, a handful of gold coins, his journal with all the memories of his time at Garreg Mach, and the last living remnant he had of his wife: his one month old daughter, Byleth. To his knowledge, his daughter slept soundly within the bag. It was hard to tell since she was  _ always _ quiet. She never cried or screamed or made any sort of noise; quiet as the death that had claimed her mother at her birth. 

A sharp pang resonated in his chest at the still fresh reminder. It had only been a moon since Sitri had passed. His new reality still felt more like a never ending nightmare his mind refused to wake up from, the death of his beloved wife a fresh, deep wound unwilling to heal. It was all so surreal. She had been sickly before her pregnancy, and her constitution hadn't improved much during it...but he had never seen her happier despite the risks they knew would be involved. Regardless, to have her die after giving birth to the baby she loved more than anything besides himself...it just didn't make sense to him. The reality of it all was just too cruel. It was some sick  _ joke _ . The fact that Byleth never cried, even after birth, was just as jarring. He had been whisked away from the infirmary during the birth to wait in the common room, his ears tuned in to every sound he could hear down the corridor, waiting for the tell tale sign of a baby's first breathy wail to tell him when the exhausting deed would be done. 

The sound had never come.

Not only that, but Rhea had refused to tell him any more details on his wife's death, why his daughter acted so peculiarly, and why there was an incision-like scar traveling straight down across her chest. When he had secretly snuck a doctor from a neighboring town into the monastery to give his daughter a check-up in hopes of answering his questions, the doctor found the infant had a strange pulse...but no heartbeat.

**** **_No heartbeat._ **

How was that even possible?!

This whole situation reeked of secrets and betrayal so thick that it took all of Jeralt's willpower to not choke and retch. Rhea...he had looked up to her as a mentor. She was like a secondary mother to him and his wife, who had been a nun in her service. Not only that, she had given Jeralt a second chance at life. One that, if he hadn't taken it, he would have never met Sitri and had Byleth in the first place. But Rhea was behind everything horrible that had happened to him in the last month. His beautiful wife was now strangely dead, his daughter so silent and without a heart that she might as well have been dead, too. Yet, Byleth lived while his Sitri didn't, despite the odds. Rhea had been in the delivery room during the birthing process. Rhea had the power to save people's lives from the brink of death. He was living proof of that. So if that was the case, then why? Why was Sitri dead?! Why was his daughter nothing more than a living corpse?! 

Just...why would Rhea do this to him...? Had his years of service to her been for nothing?

Bringing himself back to the present, and seeing that the guard was still nowhere near his location, Jeralt took a shaky, steadying breath. Calm washed over him with a soothing, practiced ease, his mind pushing away his emotions to deal with at a later time. Tonight, he was nothing more than a knight on a mission. He had to see this through or everything he had done up to his point would be for nothing.

He was taking Byleth and getting the hell out of here. 

The stables loomed ahead, the soft snorting of horses, pegasi and falicorns breaking through the eerie silence. He could see no guards walking the area, most of them undoubtedly delayed with the recovery efforts from the fire just that morning. Jeralt had secretly been the one to start it. To his knowledge, no one had figured it out yet. If they did, he hoped to be as far away from the monastery as possible and nigh untraceable when that time came. But, as far as everyone else knew, a lit candle had been blown over in Byleth's nursery from a gust of wind from an open window, the blaze catching the fabric of the curtains quickly and setting the whole room ablaze, leaving nothing but the charred remains of a crib and scraps of burnt baby clothes. No one knew that it was a set of correspondence letters set by the curtains from a friend of Jeralt's in Kingdom territory—one who was providing him a place to stay once he could get away—that he had set on fire and burned away without a trace along with the rest of the room. 

He had been the one to tell Rhea after the fire was discovered and put out about what had happened (the fire had spread further throughout the entire wing of the monastery before it was finally contained, thankfully only causing injuries and no actual deaths), that there was nothing salvageable in the nursery...and that Byleth had perished in the inferno. It didn't take much effort to show his grief to the archbishop even through his lies; he had more than enough sorrow to last a lifetime now. The older woman wept like the child that was lost was her own, her grief hanging heavy over the whole monastery like her entire world had been torn asunder. That reaction alone had only confirmed Jeralt's deepest fears. There was more going on here that he didn't know, and Rhea had plans for his daughter that he wasn't sure if he even  _ wanted _ to know. All he knew now, more than ever, was that he had to protect Byleth. She was all that he had left. 

The hand that securely held the satchel to his side lifted from the strap then, Jeralt's thoughts of his daughter's safety fiercely driving the urge to see her then, to make sure she was still holding up well. Slightly lifting the unbuckled flap so that the moonlight from above could light up the inside of the bag, Jeralt glanced inwards to see the small infant now in his custody. A small mop of dark teal hair poked out through the warm blanket swaddled around her, her blue eyes closed in peaceful slumber as her small chest rose and fell in an even tempo. She didn't make a sound, not even a snore, and even if she woke hungry, as she was bound to do in a few hours, she still wouldn't make a peep. The rest of Jeralt's belongings lay around and underneath her, but no bottles of milk rested within the bag. After Sitri died, a few female monks that helped in the infirmary had used faith magic to stimulate lactation and took on the role of wet nurses for the baby girl. Since it was straining on the body for someone who wasn't actually pregnant, they took the feeding in shifts, some of them filling bottles if they were needed elsewhere at the time of Byleth's feedings. Only a few bottles had been left in the ice box since that morning, and no new ones were added at the news of Byleth's supposed death. It had been a pain in the ass to snatch them and heat them up in secret with the limited time he had (his squire Alois, would  _ not _ leave him alone in his 'time of need'), but he had somehow managed. Byleth had just finished off the last bottle a half-hour ago...which meant he had roughly 3 hours until she was probably hungry again. He somehow had to sneak out of the monastery and ride into Kingdom territory and find his friend before Byleth starved. 

It was gonna be a long and harrowing ride. 

Not wasting any more time, Jeralt cautiously made his way towards the stables that housed the horses, his eyes squinting as he scanned the names upon the doors, looking for one horse in particular; a young stallion weathered enough in battle to handle with ease but young and energetic enough to run throughout the night to their destination. Caramel-colored eyes soon fell upon the plaque they were looking for, and Jeralt's soundless footfalls came to a halt. Whispering out the horse's name through the door so as not to startle the sleeping creature within, Jeralt gently lifted the lock of the padlock. A soft snort of surprise was all that greeted him as the wizened man opened the door and softly closed it behind him. A brown horse with shaggy, wiry fur stared at him, it's eyes slightly wide, but it didn't let out a warning cry as it recognized it's rider's voice and scent.

“Sorry for the disturbance, Fred,” Jeralt whispered out as he affectionately patted the stallion's withers. “We're in for a long, sleepless night.” 

Calmed by his soothing voice, Fred (also known as Frederick), stood still as Jeralt got to gathering a saddle and bridal. As much as he wanted to take the horse's usual armor with as well, he knew that it would be too loud, making their attempts at stealth obsolete. Jeralt had left his own armor behind as well, his body only covered with the black undergarments he usually wore underneath his mail and armor, a long sleeved tunic, pants, riding boots and a winter cloak. It was going to get colder once they reached Faerghus. 

After tightening the straps of the bridle and saddle and securing a saddle bag to the side of his seat. Jeralt went over to a bin to the side of the stable stall and scooped a few small bags of feed out. Placing them in the saddle bag, Jeralt grabbed hold of Frederick's reins with one hand and cautiously opened the stable door. The older man glanced back and forth in the dark, checking to make sure he was still in the clear before he led Frederick out and closed up the stable behind him. Fred gave a light snort, his ears pricking forward in the moonlight. Jeralt surmised that his steed had heard something off in the distance, so he slowly led the horse in the opposite direction from where his ears were pointing.

Making sure not to lead the horse down cobblestone paths so his horseshoes wouldn't echo off of the rocky terrain, Jeralt did his best to keep to the shadows and the monastery's outer walls. Due to his long stay at the establishment, he had been able to find a few secret passages that weren't on any blueprints he could find. A small smirk of reminiscence lifted a corner of the man's mouth at the thought of the many paths in question. Sitri and him had taken many of them to get away from the nosy people of the monastery and out into the town below.

Speaking of which, there was one in particular that was close to the stables. It led out to the forest surrounding the monastery. Once there, he could breathe a little easier, but he had to sneak past the watchmen on duty and the main monastery walls first.

Jeralt came to a pause along the wall then, Fred stopping dutifully behind him. About a yard away, along the battlements, was a watchman. Jeralt had figured there would be someone around here by this time despite the low staff at the moment. At least there was only one to deal with. 

Murmuring a soft command to his horse to stay put, Jeralt slunk along the wall, keeping his body low. As he drew nearer to the knight pacing along the battlements, the captain of the knights picked up a stone near his feet. As soon as his adversary's back was to him, Jeralt chucked the rock as far as he could, the small stone leaving his hand to smack lightly further down along the wall. Jeralt heard a surprised response from the pacing knight and watched with a mixture of disappointment and satisfaction as the watchman went towards the source of the noise. He had trained all of these men and that was literally the oldest trick in the book. Must have been a new recruit. At least, he  _ hoped  _ that was the case. 

Sneaking his way back to his stalwart horse, Jeralt grabbed hold of Fred's reins and led the horse slowly along the wall again, the old man keeping an eye on the battlements to see if the watchman was coming back. Seeing that he was in the clear and breathing a small sigh of relief, Jeralt stopped beside one of the watchtowers a few feet away and started feeling in the dark for a certain brick. Upon feeling the small, almost indistinguishably protruding stone under his fingertips, Jeralt's hand tightened around the brick and pulled with all of his might. The sound of heavy stones grinding and pushing against dirt filled the air as Jeralt pulled the stone-covered door outward, revealing a small doorway that led beyond the wall and into the forest. 

But that sound brought his stealth tactics to an abrupt end.

A shout of surprise rang through the air, a round of more distant shouts responding in unison to it as Jeralt quickly led Fred through the opening and into the forest. He didn't have time to close the secret passage behind him; it would be his parting gift for his men. They'd probably have a blast at finding another secret at the monastery and go on a hunt for more passages later on.

Jeralt forced the thoughts of his men from his mind as he continued to lead his horse further into the woods. The voices he had heard only moments ago were now growing distant again as he slowly ambled his way through the dark. It was too risky to light a torch at the moment since he was still so close to the monastery. He would just have to move as quickly and safely as he could until he could find the road into Kingdom territory he needed to take. 

Progress was slow.  _ Terribly _ slow. But Jeralt dared not to quicken his pace. He hated to think what would happen if he fell with Byleth curled up in the bag that he cradled at his side. The thought of squishing her under his weight from one false move...it was too horrible to think about. 

By the time Jeralt and his steed finally made it through the woods and to the road they needed, dawn was just starting to peak over the horizon. By this point, Byleth had to be awake and hungry. True to form, though, she hadn't made a peep. It was both concerning and gratifying that she was so quiet. At least he wouldn't have to listen to bawling all the way to Kingdom territory. Still, he had to get there quickly so she wouldn't starve. Thankfully, his friend's village wasn't too far from the border. It was risky to keep Byleth there so close to Garreg Mach, but if they truly believed she was dead and Jeralt didn't stick around the village too much, Rhea and her knights wouldn't suspect a thing.

Finally pulling the reins over Frederick's head to rest on his withers, the old knight hoisted himself up onto the saddle. Fred gave a little snort as Jeralt settled in, the man's hands automatically going different directions once he was set; one hand going to the reins, the other going to steady the bag at his side. With quick fingers, Jeralt deftly opened the flap on the large satchel, his light brown eyes peering in with the help of the dawning light to see the wrapped up bundle within. Sapphire blue eyes stared back up at him as Byleth gave a little yawn, her face as expressionless as ever. To anyone else, it was disconcerting to see, but the sight had become normal for Jeralt. He was sure he'd be able to read her expressions eventually like any good parent could...it just might take awhile...especially if he wasn't going to be around her very long in the younger years of her life.

Gently placing the flap of the satchel back over Byleth to keep out the cold, but just open enough so she had enough air coming in. Jeralt then held the bag close to him with a steady hand, his heart heavy with the thought of having to part ways with his daughter. If this was the only way to keep her safe, though, then he wouldn't change a single thing. Her safety was worth the sacrifice of their happiness as a family. Whatever would keep her away from _that_ _woman_.

With a scowl set on his face at the mere thought of Rhea, Jeralt gave a kick to his horse to send it into an immediate gallop. With expertise that came only to those who had ridden a horse for years, Jeralt held on tightly to the reins with one hand as Frederick started rushing down the dirt path with desperate haste, Jeralt's other hand keeping the bag at his side steady so Byleth wouldn't be jostled by the ride. 

Without the horse's usually heavy armor weighing them down, Jeralt swiftly made his way through the mountainous territory of Garreg Mach, Frederick's hooves hitting the dirt at a steady beat as they thundered down towards the more densely forested area of Magdred Way. 

* * *

A few hours travel saw Jeralt and his group at a small farm nestled into the forest of Magdred Way, just a few miles away from the nearest village. The ageless man let out a sigh of relief as he took in the sight of his new haven. It was just as his friend had described to him in his letters. A small, thatch-roofed house with a fenced in chicken coop off to the side and a pen for pigs a little further away. There was also a small garden behind the house, the corner of a trellis barely visible from where Jeralt was perched upon his horse. A small wagon was also set off to the side of the front door, a brown, wiry-haired horse not too far away from it, grazing in the front yard. They were finally here.

Quickly opening the flap of his bag, Jeralt peeked in to check on his daughter. The baby girl slowly opened her eyes as the early afternoon light filtered in through the forested canopy and down upon them. She gave a little grunt, her tiny nose scrunching up, signifying the only sign of her discomfort, as she peered up at her father from her bundled confines. Her blue eyes looked more unfocused than usual to him as Jeralt studied her. She must be starving by this point.

Folding the flap backwards so that it rested against his sides and kept the bag open to the light, Jeralt carefully dismounted his steed, Frederick giving a tired whinny at the action. The blond-haired man gave the horse a grateful pat to his withers before leading the steed by his reins to a trough set up a few feet away, a water pump sticking in the ground beside it. With a few creaky pumps of the handle, cool water poured into the wooden trough. As Fred began to drink greedily from the offered water, the telltale creaking of an old wooden door being opened came from behind him, alerting Jeralt that he was no longer alone.

“Glad to see it's just a friend making himself at home and not a group of bandits,” a young man in his late twenties joked as he made his way out from the house. The man in question had dark brown skin and short, cropped silver hair. 

Jeralt chuckled lightly in response, a small smile finding its way onto his lips. “Nice to see that you're doing well, Rowan. Sorry to just barge in and take some water off your hands.” 

“It's no issue, Jeralt,” the younger man assured with a soft smile. “I figured you'd have run that horse of yours ragged just to get here. Speaking of which...” he brought up, his features becoming more serious. “You and the little one must be starving by this point. Why don't you come in and make yourselves comfortable?” Rowan's features grew curious then as he glanced around the clearing. “Where is the little one, by the way?”

“She's resting in the bag at my side,” Jeralt mentioned as he started to undo Fred's bridle once the horse stopped gulping down water. “The kid's been a real trooper through all of this.”

At the mention of the baby's whereabouts, Rowan drew nearer. As the younger man reached Jeralt's side, the former Captain handed the now unlatched bridle to the darker-skinned man before turning his attention to the horse's saddle. Bending down to Jeralt's now stooped level, Rowan reached out and pulled back the side of the bag at the man's side and glanced in. The young man let out a low hum as Byleth's blue eyes met his quizzical ones. Taking in the little girl's appearance, Rowan couldn't help but chuckle. 

“You sure this one's yours? She looks nothing like you...Well...maybe she has that piercing gaze of yours, at least.”

Jeralt just let out an irritated sigh at that. “Goddess, I hear that all the time. She's practically the spitting image of her mother.” His voice grew softer at the admission. “It's...hard to take in sometimes.”

“Ah, that's understandable,” Rowan agreed with some regret, his eyes silently sending his older friend an apology for dredging up memories. Jeralt gave a grunt and a nod of understanding towards his helping friend before he went back to unpacking his steed, the air between them now somber.

After relieving Fred of his bridle and saddle and letting the horse go free to graze, Jeralt made his way up to the house, Rowan quick to help Jeralt place his leather equipment inside just beside the door.

“I can't thank you and your wife enough for agreeing to help me,” Jeralt mentioned as he followed Rowan further inside, his voice heavy with gratitude. The inside of the house was very simple. A small kitchen unit was off to the right of the door with a small kitchen table with four chairs set in the middle of the main room. A fireplace sat along the wall to the right of the table, a pair of rocking chairs set before it. Three doors were placed along the back wall, two of them undoubtedly leading to bedrooms while the third probably led to the garden and outhouse in the back.

“Like I said before, it's no issue,” Rowan answered warmly as he pulled a chair out at the small kitchen table and offered the seat to the older man. “It's the least I can do for the man who saved my father all those years ago. Without you, I wouldn't even exist!”

The younger man gave out a boisterous laugh at his own words as he took a seat across from his apparent savior. Jeralt's smile turned upwards into a small smirk as the memory of the boy's father came to mind. 

“That really was a long time ago...” Jeralt mentioned, his voice taking on the edge of an old man reminded of his growing age. 

“Speaking of which,” Rowan brought up with an air of intrigue. “How does it feel to sire a child this late in your life? Actually feel up for the challenge?”

The young man's questions were amicable enough, but Jeralt couldn't help but be put on edge by them. Pretty soon, people were going to question just how he was staying so young looking for someone as old as he was. He might have to stay out of the public eye soon...He could maybe last another 20 years in the limelight without being too suspicious, especially since he lied about his age to everyone at the monastery, but for old friends like Rowan, who he had known as a boy, it would undoubtedly look suspicious sooner than later.

“Probably as ready as you are to be a father,” Jeralt finally sighed out in answer. “...Considering your circumstances.” 

“Yeah...” Rowan sighed, his features turning haggard. “I'm terrified to be honest...I know parenthood is supposed to be hard but...my child will have to deal with more than most.”

Jeralt felt the weight of the man's words deepen his frown, his light brown eyes narrowing in slight anger—not at Rowan—but at the man's unlucky fate. The boy had been born half Fodlanese and half Duscuran, and most in this country didn't handle foreigners of any kind well. In fact, Jeralt had to save the boy's father, who was from Duscur, from a mob of angry citizens before he was even a Knight of Seiros. The way people treated others that were different in this country...it was just heartbreaking. A part of him worried for his daughter in that same regard. She was anything but normal for a child.

“Your child has it a little better off than you, at least,” Jeralt spoke with quiet reassurance. “They are only a quarter Duscuran. If they haven't taken on too many qualities of the race, they won't receive as much flak for it. And if they marry another Fodlan native, that blood will be diluted more to this  _ asshole _ of a country's liking.” He spat out that last part with scorn, but when he spoke next, his voice carried with it the confidence only a man of his ilk could possess. “Rest assured, Rowan, no harm will come to you or your family while my daughter is with you. Even afterwards when I am able to take Byleth off your hands, I'll do what I can to ensure your safety.”

“That's most reassuring to hear,” the younger man stated with a relieved sigh. “I figure that might be a little difficult since you'll be gone so much so the Church doesn't find you, but it's hard not to believe a man who's called, 'The Blade Breaker'.”

Jeralt sighed then, his voice sounding tired. “Yeah, it will be difficult but I'll do whatever I can. I'm planning on going to town here tonight and seeing what information I can find at the pub for mercenary jobs. I plan on starting my own group and getting enough coin to support myself and your family.”

“Coin doesn't really help us much.”

The soft, feminine voice startled Jeralt slightly as he looked over Rowan's shoulder towards the back of the room. One of the doors to the bedrooms was open, and a young woman was standing in the doorway. She was relatively tall, about the same height as Rowan, with a round, rather cute cream colored face, and cropped, curly golden hair. 

“Ah, you must be Adelaide,” Jeralt greeted with a kind smile of recognition. “Rowan has told me much about you.”

The woman smiled softly at that. “I'm sure he has,” she mentioned as she softly shut the door behind her. “I just settled Arthur down for a nap, so you'll have to see him later if you wish.”

“I will have to do that,” Jeralt responded courteously, his eyes narrowing with interest as he thought back on the woman's words. “What do you mean that coin doesn't help you much?”

“No one takes kindly to me in the village nearby,” Rowan answered for his wife, shame evident in his voice and his hands, which were tightening into fists upon the table. “They refuse to sell me their wares, or pay me well for mine. Also, since they know that Adel is married to me, they treat her in the same way. That's why we live so far out from the village and in the forest. We have to be fully self-sufficient.”

“I see.” Jeralt's response was grim as he placed his elbows on the table and folded his hands before him in thought. “Well, I guess I'll be the one to supply you with what you need then. The villagers have no idea that I'm involved with you and...” He added with a smirk, his tone turning lighter with amusement. “...I'd love to see them try and swindle me.” 

Rowan couldn't help but laugh at that, his hands, once tightly fisted with anger and anxiety, now smacking the table top in mirth. “That truly would be a sight.”

“That aside,” Adelaide brought up with a grateful smile. “We are truly grateful for your help Jeralt. We will do our best to take care of your little one. Byleth, you said her name was, right? Rowan let me read the letters you sent.”

“That's right,” Jeralt confirmed as he reached down into his bag and finally lifted his daughter out of it with gentleness not considered possible for a man with his looks. “I hate to ask this of you so soon, Adelaide, but the trip has been long and my daughter must be famished by this point. Would you mind--?”

“Of course not,” the woman answered without hearing the rest of the older man's question. She quickly walked up to Jeralt's side and gently took the girl from his arms with practiced ease. “My, my, she is quite the little beauty,” Adelaide appraised at a glance as she traversed the room to one of the rocking chairs by the fireplace and turned away from the men for some privacy to nurse. “Her stare is a little unnerving, though. She must get that from you.”

A rough chuckle of amusement met the woman's ears at that. “So I hear all the time. To be quite frank, though,” Jeralt added, his amused tone turning serious once more. “Byleth is not an ordinary child by any means.” He paused then, thinking over his next words carefully as Rowan turned his gaze away from his nursing wife and back to him, and Adelaide cocked the back of her head in his direction, showing she was listening. “Byleth...is a really quiet child. She never cries, or fusses...as hard as that is to believe. Not only that but...she has a strange pulse.” 

They didn't need to know the whole truth. They wouldn't believe him even if he did tell them. He just needed to give a plausible reason for her strange condition so that they wouldn't see her as a freak. 

“I had a doctor look at her before we left the Monastery. They said that she has an irregular pulse. One he hasn't quite heard before. But with how quiet she is on top of that...he figures that she might be a weak, sickly child. He's not exactly sure if she will survive long at all...but I'll be damned if I don't give her a chance. My wife died giving birth to her; the least I can do is see our child through to the end as well, whenever that may be.”

The air in the room grew somber once more as the news fell on everyone's ears. Adelaide's grip tightened around the child in her arms, as if her hold could prevent what Jeralt said from coming to pass.

“Well,” Rowan broke the silence with determination. “We'll just have to do our best to take care of her, just like what you're doing for us.”

“Exactly,” Adelaide agreed as she peered over her shoulder and nodded her head towards the older man. “We will do our best to be careful with her and keep her well until your return.” The blonde-haired woman's brows furrowed in thought then, her gaze steady on Jeralt's eyes as she continued to nurse his child. “Speaking of which, how often are you planning to visit your daughter while she is in our care?”

Jeralt's frown deepened as he thought over his options. He couldn't stick around the farm too often. If he did, the Church could figure out his whereabouts from the nearby village, and said villagers might start associating him with Rowan's family, which wouldn't do the man any favors. He had to be gone long enough that his trail would be long and difficult to follow, but not too long so he could keep updated on Byleth and help Rowan's family out.

“With all the factors I have to take into consideration,” Jeralt spoke slowly as he reassessed his decision. “I'd have to say I will be checking in around every three months. That way I'll be gone long enough to not be associated with your family by the nearby villagers and the Church, but not too long that I won't be able to keep your family well taken care of.”

“Three months, huh?” Rowan leaned back in his chair, his head turning up towards the ceiling in thought. “...I wish you would come back sooner than that, but I can understand your point of view.” 

“We will do our best to keep Byleth safe until your return then,” Adelaide agreed with a nod before she refocused back on the baby girl in her arms.

Jeralt gave the couple a small smile, relief flooding him at their words. 

“Thank you. Both of you,” the older man said, his voice thick with gratitude.

“Of course,” Rowan returned the man's smile with one of his own. “Now how about you help me carve up this deer I shot this morning out back. We can get some food in your gullet to help you recover from the trip here.”

“Sounds like a plan,” Jeralt agreed as he got up from the table and followed Rowan out back. 

Jeralt knew he would miss not having his daughter in his sights. A small part of him would also be paranoid for her safety. But he honestly couldn't think of any two people better than Rowan and Adelaide to take on the task. His daughter would truly be in good hands. 


End file.
